


cancel your reservations, no more hesitations, this is on

by pearwaldorf



Category: British Actor RPF, Good Omens (TV) RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, High Sex, Insomnia, Jet Lag, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: He puts his hand on David’s shoulder, squeezes, rubs his thumb against the line of it. David relaxes just a little bit and smiles, however tiredly.There’s something about the affectionate, open sweetness of it that makes his chest go a bit funny. David is genial, personable to a fault. In this line of work, there’s a necessary distance a person needs to build when it feels like everybody wants something from you, and you have to seem gracious about giving it to them. It makes it hard to let people in sometimes, and he would never fault anybody for keeping themselves at arm’s length.David is much more reserved than Michael (to be fair, most people are), and Michael gets the sense he doesn't let too many people closer. But for some reason, David has decided to invite him in, and it feels like an extraordinary privilege.





	cancel your reservations, no more hesitations, this is on

**Author's Note:**

> This would not exist without Baseball4Mandi asking for a sequel to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265616), so sometimes it does help to ask. 
> 
> (I don't think this requires you read the previous one for it to make sense, but I could be wrong!)
> 
> All 1000% fictional self-indulgent nonsense.

Nothing will ever make publicity and pressers fun; Michael concluded a long time ago. The best you can ever hope for is a co-star who understands and/or hates it even more than you do. David is both. 

It's no real hardship to talk about David, the process of developing their characters together, how in love the angel and demon are. There are definitely worse things than endless photo shoots where he has to stare adoringly at him, drape over each other with great familiarity and ease; accommodate the latest photo director who wants to see if they can make it a bit more playful, there we go. 

No, he takes that back. The last thing is bollocks and always terrible. But it's easier with David, when Michael can ask him if he's ready to do their monkey prostitution for the day, and he'll make a big show of checking the schedule and swear it's baboons in skirts this entire week. And it’s always easier when you have someone to play off of, pick up the thread when you blank, or just answer the question you’ve been asked a hundred fucking times already so you don’t have to. 

So it’s not just friendly human concern that makes him ask "You all right, mate?” when he finds David in one of those little nooks where they keep extra banquet equipment in the hotel, leaning against an ice-maker. He’s been a bit peaky since they’ve arrived in Los Angeles, but there’s only so much you can do about jet lag and punishing schedules. He doesn’t look like shit right now, but in a day or so he probably will.

“‘S just jet lag. You know, the usual—” He makes a vague gesture that Michael assumes is meant to encompass the entire stupid process. 

“I think I might still know a couple doctors in the area—they can get you something to help you sleep.” He’s already got his phone out when David shakes his head.

“Tried that stuff before—it makes it even worse. Just have to stiff upper lip it. We’re good at that, right?” It’s a droll inside joke, born of too many days dealing with American reporters who don’t understand regional anything in the UK. And for a moment, Michael is sharply reminded of his lonely, early days in LA, when everything was too strange to even feel like a holiday and he hadn’t known the old Welsh church existed. 

He puts his hand on David’s shoulder, squeezes, rubs his thumb against the line of it. David relaxes just a little bit and smiles, however tiredly. 

There’s something about the affectionate, open sweetness of it that makes his chest go a bit funny. David is genial, personable to a fault (as Michael has found out on days when he feels like all he wants to do is belt up and not say a word). In this line of work, there’s a necessary distance a person needs to build when it feels like everybody wants something from you, and you have to seem gracious about giving it to them. It makes it hard to let people in sometimes, and he would never fault anybody for keeping themselves at arm’s length. 

David is much more reserved than Michael (to be fair, most people are), and Michael gets the sense he doesn't let too many people closer. But for some reason, David has decided to invite him in, and it feels like an extraordinary privilege.

"Cheer up, darling; a finger of good whisky and a proper wank'll set you to rights."

David laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard all day. (Who knows, it might be.) "Is that your trained medical opinion then?" 

"I played a doctor for four years on premium cable. I did pick up a few things."

He rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. "At least you didn't turn the doctor joke back on me. Every wag thinks they're the first to come up with it."

Michael looks properly horrified, but before he can say anything else, their handler comes to fetch them for the next round of the gauntlet. 

— 

“Oh no,” Michael says as soon as David staggers into the green room. He definitely looks like shit now: bags under his eyes so large he practically needs a trolley, a gaze that unfocusses even though he’s trying his damndest to maintain it. 

He pours coffee into the biggest cup he can find and sits down. “I have to say, your medical advice is fucking bollocks.” 

“We can cancel if you’re feeling that bad, get somebody else to fill in for us—” 

David shakes his head. “Too much. Too complicated to reschedule.” He takes a drink and makes a face. “That’s incredibly shite. But on the bright side, I feel a little more awake.” 

“So we make it a short day and procure you the worst coffee Los Angeles has to offer.” 

He takes another gulp of coffee, smiles at Michael. “Your nursemaiding is better than your doctoring, but only just.”

He spends most of the day drawing attention to himself, letting David answer by rote. And if David spends most of his time off-camera using him as a pillow? He’s happy to help out any way he can.

Finally, they’re done for the day. Michael catches his sleeve. “You know, if you put in a word to the concierge somebody could probably bring you something to help you relax.” 

“I told you, pills don’t work on me.”

“I’m not talking about pills.” 

David gets that scrunchy thinky face. God help him, it is legitimately adorable. “What then, illicit massages?”

Michael laughs. “Sometimes you really are a bit thick. Edibles, you dolt. They’re legal here and the worst thing that can happen is you sleep too much.”

“I’m willing to try anything at this point. Have a good night.”

“Hope it works.” Impulsively, he leans over and busses David on the cheek. “Rest well; I’ll see you in the morning.”

— 

It’s not exactly late, but enough to be impolite when his phone buzzes. It’s David.

“Yeah?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, can you come up?” He sounds a bit spaced.

“Sure, be there in a tick.” 

He knocks on the door, hears “It’s open!” and lets himself in. David is sitting on the couch, looking a bit lost.

Michael sits down next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel strange. A bit anxious. Also like I want to eat but I’m not hungry.”

Michael starts laughing. He can’t help it. David attempts a disapproving look but only gets to petulant.

“When was the last time you had marijuana of any sort?”

“Years, decades, perhaps. And it’s not like I did it much. Not like this.” 

He pats David’s knee. “Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. You had a bit more than you were prepared for, and that’s on me for not realizing this isn’t something you do. The best way to deal is to just lean into it.”

“So what, we order great big bags of crisps and listen to the Grateful Dead?” 

“If you want. But I have an idea I think you’ll like better.” Michael calls down to room service and a platter of cookies and a couple pints of gelato (this is Los Angeles, after all) are delivered a short time later.

“Now what?” David asks.

“We figure out how much British sketch comedy they have on streaming here.” He picks an episode of That Mitchell and Webb Look at random.

David looks preemptively bored. “I’ve seen this one loads. All of these, probably.” 

Michael hands him a pint of gelato and a spoon. “I have a suspicion you haven’t watched them in the state of mind they were meant to be enjoyed. Dig in.”

It’s been a while since he’s watched these, and he does laugh. David, however, finds them absolutely hilarious, and just roars. It’s good to see him relax.

After a few episodes, David gets quiet. He glances over and David’s curled right next to him on the couch. Michael reaches out, puts his hand on David’s nape, starts doing gentle circles with his fingers. David’s body goes slack, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Fucking hell, Michael, I should have asked you for a massage the night we flew in.” There’s something in his voice that makes Michael’s breath catch, the sheer sensual enjoyment very very close to something else.

“This is hardly a massage. I’m barely rubbing your neck.” 

“‘S nice, whatever it is.” He smiles, a little dopey and a lot blissed out. 

“Good.” 

Michael keeps doing it for a little bit—long enough he’s half-asleep and doesn’t quite register David moving to close the distance between them. He kisses Michael, softly but with intent.

David’s lips are parted a tiny bit, and they taste faintly of chocolate. He licks into David’s mouth, chasing a sweetness that isn’t all sugar. Without breaking their kiss, David climbs on top of him, settling himself on Michael’s lap. Michael steadies David with hands on his hips, sliding just under the hem of his t-shirt to touch bare skin. 

“Your hands are warm,” David says against his mouth. “Feels good.” 

He tugs David’s t-shirt off, flinging it somewhere. He runs his hands up David’s sides, down his back. David relaxes even more. A happy little noise of pleasure from him makes Michael smile, kiss his forehead. 

He places a hand at the small of David's back and skims his fingers up the curve of his spine, making him shiver. He works on sucking a mark at the edge of a collarbone, right where a shirt would rub against it. When he's done, he runs his tongue over it, making David gasp.

"Bastard," David mutters, but there's no heat behind it.

"That's the idea," Michael says, cheerfully unrepentant. 

"You're too dressed," David says as he tries to pull Michael's shirt off. "Wanna feel you."

"Let me, then." Michael gets rid of his shirt and David molds his body against Michael's, giving a little satisfied hum against his neck. 

Michael tilts his head so they can kiss again, slow and languorous. David threads his fingers through the curls on top of Michael’s head. 

"Been wanting to do this for ages," he says.

"Have you, then?" Michael replies absently. He's mostly focused on the feel of David playing with his hair. It's not particularly erotic but it does hit that monkey brain grooming instinct, which is nice in a different way.

"Since that night in my trailer." David's blushing a little, and the sensation becomes a little more charged.

"Oh?" He manages.

"Well, your hair was much shorter during filming. Couldn't do much with it, not like now." He curves his palm to the back of Michael's head, getting his fingers deep into the locks. He remembers the last time David did this, with Michael on his knees, David's cock heavy on his tongue. It makes him shift his hips, David smirking in response.

"Not surprised you like getting your hair mussed," he says. 

"Not like you didn't enjoy the mussing," he counters, remembering the way David touched him: tentative at first, then more confident, but still gentle.

"How could I not, the way you reacted?" There's an undercurrent of something in his voice: surprise, wonder maybe, that something as simple as his hand in Michael's hair was enough to spike Michael's already considerable want at the time. 

"I must admit, I'm rather easy when it comes to you." It comes out much less glib than he intended, and he ponders trying to blame it on it being late, tired out after a day of the presser gauntlet. But that would be dishonest. 

He can't even say it's Aziraphale's fault, although he certainly helped clarify some stuff bouncing round in his head. One of the things about acting is the way you dig into real emotions to animate people who don't exist, give them little bits of yourself so they seem real. Which is not to say you need to be in love with your co-stars, or even like them, but you have to be able to tap into the feeling that you _could_. 

And they’ve known each other for—god, decades at this point. Not necessarily close, but always in each other’s orbit, because Hollywood and the UK acting scene are both smaller places than they have any right to be. It’s actually quite strange they haven’t been in anything together since ‘92, but he thinks maybe it was worth the wait, if it’s lead to… whatever this is. 

“Oh.” David’s voice is tiny, and Michael worries he’s said more than he should, but David smiles, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like his heart is going to crack open right there. 

"I have a deep and insistent need to take you to bed, if you'd like to come with me," he says, settling his hands on David's hips so they don't tremble.

"I thought that was the idea," David says, because he's a shit. He gets off the couch, giving Michael a hand up. 

Trousers, pyjama bottoms, and footwear are shucked off as necessary, and they lay down on the bed. David’s not all the way hard but Michael isn't concerned. He tugs David's boxers off, begins stroking his cock. David makes a little noise, pushing into Michael’s hand.

He leans closer, right by David's ear. "Tell me what I can do for you, sweetheart. I want to make you feel good."

"Please, yes," David moans, like he's halfway wrecked already. It goes straight to Michael's cock, and he resists the urge to grind into the mattress. There's time enough for that later.

"That's incredibly hot, I'll grant you, but it's still not an answer."

"Fuck you," David gasps in a way that communicates his deep resentment at having to be verbal at such an inopportune time.

All right, Michael feels a tiny bit bad teasing him like that, and presses a little kiss to the line of David's jaw. 

"I could suck your cock like I did in your trailer. You seemed to like that. Or I could fuck you, with my fingers or my cock. You'd look absolutely gorgeous all laid out, taking it from me." As he says it he realizes how much it's a thing he wants to do, if David wants it too.

David's eyes get even darker, and he's quiet for a breath longer than usual, like he's a bit overwhelmed by the idea of it (and if that isn’t an ego boost). "I'd like you to fuck me. However and which way you like."

“Do you have any—?" Michael asks. David fumbles in a bedside drawer, tosses him a bottle. He flips the cap, slicking up his fingers. “This is disturbingly posh lube. Never figured you for that type."

"You would not believe the things people send you once you become internationally recognized; case in point. Also I'm a bit concerned you can quickly identify lubricant quality."

Michael shrugs. "I worked on a show about people researching sex. I picked a few things up from the consultants."

David raises his eyebrows. "How do you keep getting weirder the longer I know you?"

Michael scoots closer. “Is this really the conversation you want to be having right now?” 

“You should be the one setting the tone if you don’t like the direction it’s going.” 

“If you insist.” Michael pushes David’s legs apart, tilts his hips up so Michael can get a finger in him. David makes a little noise, and Michael resists the urge to stop everything immediately. “You all right, love?” 

“Yeah, it’s—it doesn’t hurt, but it feels a little weird.” 

“Then we go as slow as you like.” Michael opens him up gently, patiently, until he can crook his fingers inside David and make him tremble and arch, falling back onto his hand. He’s flushed all the way down to his shoulders, and Michael very badly wants to put lips against that warm skin, taste the salt of it and mouth at his constellations of freckles. 

“I think I’m ready, if you want.”

Michael pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock. He pushes in, slowly, gently, searching David’s face for any sign of discomfort. He thrusts experimentally and David makes a low, delicious noise, so he does it again. This time David pushes back against him, trying to take him deeper, and it’s sweet-painful and so intense he has to stop for a moment. 

“Are _you _all right, then?” David asks, looking up at him. 

“Never better,” he says, and it’s the truth. He’s not sure what David sees in his face, but it makes him pull Michael down so they can kiss, hungry and open-mouthed while Michael starts moving again. They find a rhythm and it’s bloody exquisite, feeling David beneath him, giving a little gasp every time Michael rolls his hips. He mouths at the line of David’s neck, flicks his tongue against his pulse points, tastes the hollow of his throat. 

By now he can feel David’s hard and slick, his cock rubbing between them. He gets his hand on it, enjoying the little moan David gives as he’s jerked. 

“I want it to be good for you, sweetheart, want you any way you’ll have me,” he says into David’s shoulder. It’s too much to address head-on, the enormity of his feeling. 

David shudders beneath him and fists a hand into Michael’s hair, gripping hard. It’s not enough to hurt but skates the edge, making his breath catch.

"’S good," David says between thrusts, like it’s the only time he can string thoughts together. "You feel so fucking good, don't stop." 

Michael keeps working David's cock, trying to keep a steady pace as he continues fucking him. "So gorgeous, so sweet taking me," he murmurs into David's ear. "Want you to come when I'm in you, feel you feel good."

David makes a sound, filthy and lustful and desperate, and Michael thinks it might be the hottest thing he's ever heard. He comes, intense and messy, over both of them, and clenches around Michael, the feel of that tight exquisite heat pushing him over.

He orgasms with a ragged noise, trying not to collapse on top of David. David's hand is still in his hair, running his fingers through Michael's curls, pressing against his scalp. He closes his eyes, trying to commit all this to memory: him still inside David, the steady rhythm of David playing with his hair, the warm post-coital intimacy of two bodies tangled together.

David presses a kiss to the crown of his head. "All right?"

"Absolutely perfect."

— 

David's beat him to the green room this morning. He doesn't look all the way better but he's clear-eyed, unlike during the rest of the week.

"You were gone when I woke up." It's more of a question than anything.

"I thought it wisest to let you sleep undisturbed." What Michael doesn’t mention are the long minutes where he thought about crawling into bed with David, or kipping on the couch just in case he needed anything.

David pats his hand. "Appreciate the thought, but you're always welcome to stay if you want."

"Mind what you ask for, sweetheart; I might never leave." His tone is much breezier than he feels, because this is not any sort of time to start thinking about how things might have changed between them. Later, for sure, but absolutely not now.

"I'm well aware." David grins and gets up from the table. "Ready for the monkey dancing?"

Michael follows him. "Now that I know what's waiting for me at the end of it? Yeah, let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Large parts of the presser experience are based on Michael's episode of David's podcast. It sounds fucking miserable.
> 
> There really was a [Welsh church in Los Angeles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welsh_Presbyterian_Church_\(Los_Angeles\)). It stopped holding services in 2011 because of lack of parishioners. 
> 
> Celebrities really do get random free stuff all the time. I learned about it in [this article about Ashton Kutcher](https://www.rollingstone.com/movies/movie-news/a-closer-look-at-ashton-kutcher-69773/) and it has haunted me ever since.


End file.
